another day, I wake, and contemplate, on another way, to get paid, to the lord I pray, hoping it's a better day, I need money but can't get a job, cuz I'm a felon, theres gotta be a better way, then dope selling, if I get caught, I was taught, to not, say a word to the cops, theres no telling, what type of life is that, and always gotta watch my back, cuz there's no telling, who's coming for me. will it be the cops, or those closest to me, paranoid like the dope fiend down the street, they got me steady tripping, cuz I know there plotting against me, on what to do to me, when they get me, but I guess I was bound to be. in this position, cuz my surroundings, constantly, have me going back to the same thing, so usually, at night I cruise the streets, with my music on, and day dream, of a better life, a life where I finished school with a degree, and I met a wife, and my kids would look to me, with pride, in there eyes, but instead I, chose a life of crime, but its time, that I, push the bull shit aside, and write to this beat, about my life, on these rhymes,